


Somebody to Love

by Banashee



Series: Somebody to Love (Phlint Verse) [1]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, More tags will be added later, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, chosen family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-10-12 12:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: This one is about how Phil and Clint meet, grow close over the years and end up less alone in the process.Yes, it's one of those stories. Welcome back to 2012 Fandom.RATING GOT BUMPED UP TO EXPLICIT JUST TO BE SAFE.--(...)Phil is awake, and he's staring at the closed door – he thinks he's heared familiar voices outside, and isn't sure if it was real or simply his imagination. Wishful thinking.No one but Fury, a doctor and a small handful of nurses ever came to visit him here, and although he is in no shape to go through files to get any information, he knows that his presence (or survival, for that matter) must be classified and a well kept secret – otherwise, he knows, he'd have woken up to Natasha in his room.He desperately wishes for Clint, but he knows the protocol for compromised Agents – the thought is more painful than getting stabbed through the chest. Phil hopes that at least, they did a quick and clean job of it.(...)





	1. 1997-2000

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
thank you for reading!
> 
> Please note that there will be elements that might be triggering, which I'll add warnings in the beginning of chapters for. If you would like me to tag anything else, please let me know.  
Updates will happen hopefully regulary - it's still a WIP. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for chapter 1:  
\- off-screen character death  
\- references to alcohol abuse  
\- implied/referenced child abuse  
\- mention of suicidal tendencies

**Somebody to Love**

CHAPTER 1 (1997-2000)

*+~ 1997 ~+

Phil stares ahead on his empty living room wall, not even bothering to turn on a lamp.

The only source of light is a faint shine from the street lamp down under his window, just enough so the room isn't in complete darkness. The grandfather clock on his right is ticking away, ticking off the minutes and hours he'd been sitting and staring.

When he enters his apartment after a gruesome long-term OP, all he wants to do is to check his phone and answering machine. He would decide if there is anything important enough to deal with it right away, and otherwise leave it to tomorrow when he'd gotten some sleep.

But after the message from his landlord about the bathroom renovation ends, the next message starts with a sob.

Another sob, a few quick breaths, and Phil's heart drops, when he hears his mothers broken voice over the speaker.

"Phil? It... It's Joanna, she..." another sob, and Phil's grip on the edge of the table turns white knuckled.

"She had an car accident, someone drunk hit her and..." It's all he can do, helplessly listening to a three week old voice message of his Mom losing it, crying loudly into the phone and telling him that his oldest sister is dead.

Three weeks.

Phil drops his head into his hands, and the next message starts playing while he sinks down on the sofa. This one is from Lauren, telling him about their sisters funeral arrangements, the time and date with a lot of sniffling and cursing under her breath.

"I hope you can get this in time Phil, we know you're probably not home right now, but... We need you. Please call back as soon as you can." she says in a heavy voice. There is no accusation at all, but it still feels like a punch in his guts.

It takes him longer than it should to pick up his courage and the phone to call back. He doesn't know what to say, and the first words out of his mouth when Lauren picks up are that he's sorry, that he didn't find out until now.

He felt choked up before, and it takes a significant amount of strength and self control to keep it together as long as they're talking. The conversation doesn't last very long, the topic too difficult to have over the phone. Phil promises to book a flight to Wisconsin as soon as he can, and they hang up on that.

Staring on the wall of the other side of the room, Phil wonders briefly if there is anyone he could call for company right now. His family is far away in another state, and he's not nearly close enough to his coworkers to call any of them. Even Nick, one of his oldest friends, is not exactly somebody he'd be comfortable around, feeling like this. He doesn't have any friends outside of work, and his last relationship ended ages ago.

Realizing that he is completely alone in this big, cold city, Phil buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking and the only sound in the room is the clock, ticking away as if nothing had happened.

*+~ 1999 / 2000 ~+

While he's never met Clint Barton in person until now, Phil knows a few things about the other man right away.

The first thing that he, and most other Agents notice, is that the he's young. Phil knows that he started much younger, though.

If it wasn't for the firmly set jaw, broad shoulders, muscles of steel from years of hard training and for the bits of scar tissue visible under the collar of his shirt and the edges under his sleeves, he'd have mistaken him for even younger than the 21 years old he actually is. That, and the haunted look in his eyes that should belong to someone decades older than him. His blue eyes are sharp like daggers and he doesn't miss much. It probably makes up for the clunky hearing aids that poke out under his blond hair.

_Grew up mostly in foster care and a circus._

_Assassin._

_Sniper._

_Archer._

_Perfect aim._

_Authority issues._

_Major trust issues._

_Possible suicidal tendencies._

_8 months of employment, 12 handlers since then._

Phils brain supplies effortlessly from what he knows about the young Agent from the file on his desk, and he offers him a handshake and a polite smile.

“Agent Barton, nice to meet you. I'm Agent Coulson and I've been assigned as your new handler. Come on in.”

The younger man accepts the handshake with a firm grip, and a stiff nod.

“Sir.”

_Doesn't speak unless spoken to._

_Mouths off._

_Insubordination._

Barton doesn't look like he's expecting much from this conversation, but follows him inside and chooses a seat, moving it a bit so he can see the door. Phil lets him, and takes his office chair and turns it away from his computer so he can face the other man.

If this surprises Barton, he doesn't let it show.

*+~

In the end, it works out.

Their first mission together comes up only hours after they first met and, all things considered, it goes down well.

They manage to secure the intel, and Clint effortlessly takes out the bad guys with two well placed tranq shots from a rooftop nearby.

After a quick debrief, Phil says, “Good work, Agent.” with a nod of approval and a hint of a real smile.

This seems to catch the younger man off guard, because he blinks in honest surprise, and opens and closes his mouth without words coming out. After he clears his throat as quietly as possible, he says,

“Thank you, Sir.” and it sounds like he means it.

They work well together.

Phil knows what he can and can't ask of his asset. He's as open with him as he can be, explains things without being asked and listens to his ideas and input.

In turn, Barton listens and obeys in the field, which, other senior Agents claim, is just unheard of. They gladly let Phil take care of the situation.

After about 6 months, he could even claim to know him a little bit.

Clint does have trouble with authority and trust, but Phil doesn't ever talk down to him and he treats him as equal as their ranks allow.

It's enough to make him relax a little bit, and he finds himself talking away at the older man over the comms, when he's perched high up somewhere with Phil on the ground, waiting to take a shot. It starts small, with observations that are not directly tied to the OP, and it doesn't take too long for him to get comfortable enough to talk his supervisors ear off. If it keeps him awake and relaxed while waiting, well, all the better for everyone involved.

Phil lets him, knowing that Barton is perfectly capable of shutting up when he needs to. He couldn't say at which point he stopped just listening, and started chatting back.

Their two-man team quickly becomes legendary in the SHIELD history. They're the smallest team, and amongst the most successful ones. While it's unusual for new Agents to get assigned to one single handler exclusively, it quickly happens to Barton and Coulson. They work well together, there is mutual trust and respect, and most Handlers are just as happy to not having to work with Barton. They've learned that the hard way, because him trusting and listening to Agent Coulson doesn't mean the same for anyone else by far.

The arrangement works well. Everyone is happy, and Director Fury is pleased as long as everything works out that way.

Of course, at some point, shit hits the fan and they have to leave behind a compromised safehouse, getting into a car ASAP and heading the other direction.

Clint pushes as far as he can, speeding just enough without drawing any attention to them, and Phil makes a few calls from his clunky cellphone. Fury knows about the change of situation, and approves of Phil's plan.

When he hangs up, he looks over at Barton.

“Where should I head, Boss?” he asks, and Phil gives him coordinates.

“This is my parents house, and I'll call ahead that we're coming. Don't worry, it'll be fine.” he adds, in response to Barton's slightly panicked look.

“Are you sure, Sir? I'm sorry I just – I wouldn't want to intrude, is all.” Clint won't look at him, eyes glued to the road in front of them.

“It won't be a problem. Don't worry, Clint.”

That does get him a look – the times he'd called the younger man by his first name can be easily counted on one hand – but he seems to relax a little bit and nods.

From what Phil knows, his experiences with family are limited at best. He hopes he won't be too uncomfortable.

*+~

Julie Coulson is surprised by the call, but just as happy as any mother to have her son over, if only for a day or two.

She spots the dark car in her drive way right when it arrives, and Phil is accompanied by one other man, both clad in dark clothes, and various cuts and bruises visible in their faces. Although knowing enough over the kind of work her son does to not be surprised by it, Julie feels a pang of sadness and protectiveness. But she puts on a smile, throws open the front door to greet them both. Pulling Phil into a bone crushing hug and greeting his Agent in a warm, hearty way as well, she's ushering both of them inside.

Phil feels relief when they arrive, because this day will finally come to an end.

He introduces Agent Barton, who seems to have tensed up beside him, but offering a polite nod and handshake to his mother and managing a “thank you” for putting them up on such short notice.

He's smiling, but Phil can tell that he holds himself tight and breathing carefully – he's been through combat, torture and life- and death situations with him, and Clint had taken everything in stride. This though, a normal family, seems to terrify him.

When Robert Coulson puts a well meaning hand on his shoulder when he walks behind Clint after dinner, he can't suppress a flinch, but laughs it off. They don't touch him after that, and he's grateful.

They end up staying for three days, and by the time they leave, Clint seems to have relaxed a little bit. His smile comes easier, the laugh seems real at least some of the time.

Phil shoots a look towards his Mom, and he just knows that she's already filling out the adoption papers in her mind.


	2. 2002-2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they find they have some things in common, grow closer and recriut the Black Widow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go again!  
Thank you for reading, this one got a little bit longer than I planned... Oops. Also, in true Barton fashion, I feel like I just crawled out of a dumpster, so I hope I'll get more work done soon.
> 
> Please mind the TRIGGER WARNINGS for this one:
> 
> \- descripstions of PTSD / Panic Attacks  
\- alcohol abuse  
\- if you want me to tag anything else please let me know.

CHAPTER 2 (2002-2005)

*+~ 2002 ~+

Phil Coulson, Clint learns, has little to no patience for drunks.  
He almost never drinks, and when he does, it's either only one glass in public to be polite or when a job requires it. Otherwise he only does it on rare occasions when he is at home and won't go anywhere the night or next day.  
This in itself earns the man many positive points in Clint's book, because he completely agrees.  
Drunk people can be dangerous. The smell of alcohol makes him nauseous, and the presence of booze drenched, stinking breath makes his skin crawl. He hates it, and if possible, avoids it.

They infiltrate a gala, some fancy event because the Creepy Dude they've been following for a while now will be there tonight to give a flash drive with important information to another Creepy Dude that SHIELD has been after for even longer.  
Clint is in a black suit that doesn't feel like him at all, but Coulson's calm voice keeps him company in his ear. Another young Agent, Murphy, in a dark suit is alongside him.  
The plan is easy in theory:  
Get in, mingle with the other guests, make pleasant conversation but don't be memorable. Get close to Creepy Dude and steal the flash drive. Get out and don't get seen. 

Being a fancy party, of course they serve champagne.  
Clint pretends to drink, laughs along with the shitty jokes and boring conversation, and then discreetly disposes of his drinks, as soon as he can, in flower pots and ugly vases that cost more than his years salary is worth.  
Clint has visual on Murphy, who stands with another group, emptying a glass of champagne and putting it back on the tablet that the waiter walking past is holding. He really hopes he didn't hold this kind of pace – they're here to finish a job.

Of course, when Clint Barton wishes for something it just won't come true.  
Instead of finishing this easy, it's on Clint to get the intel, and get Murphy out of there, who obviously miscalculated how much alcohol he can tolerate. It takes all of his self control to not snap at him. Yet.  
Murphy is stumbling, and Clint pulls him along when they're outside and on the way to the car. The other Agent tries to push him aside to get behind the wheel, and that is when he bites his head off.

“Get the fuck out of the way and in the passenger seat, I'm getting hammered just smelling you!”  
He's irritated, and disgusted. Clint just wants to get out of there.  
Murphy is slurring a little when he's speaking, and he doesn't move.  
“Relax Barton, I've just had a few with the rich folks to blend in. I can still drive.”

“Agent Murphy, you will not, under any circumstances, drive when you are intoxicated!” barks Coulson's voice in the intercom, sounding unusually impatient and uncharacteristically angry.  
“But Sir...”  
“No discussions, Agent! That is an order!”  
Phil is fuming on the other end. Clint never heard him like this before, but fucking hell, he's on his side. He fucking hates having to deal with drunks.

Clint wants to punch the man next to him in the face, instead he roughly shoves Murphy in the right seat, slams the door shut and gets behind the wheel.  
“Get your seat belt on, Asshole.” he grits out between clenched teeth.  
The smell of booze in the other Agents breath just gets worse, now that they're in an small, enclosed space.  
“Hey, keep cool.” he laughs a little, head rolling back a little. Yes, he definitively miscalculated.  
“If Coulson murders you for being stupid I will not stop him.” Clint informs Murphy, and rushes as much as possible. He wants to get the fuck out of here.

When they arrive on the pick up point, Agent Coulson is waiting for them, his expression cold as stone.  
Clint has to hold Murphy upright as this point – the alcohol is really getting to him now. As he starts to retch, Barton shoves him away from himself and sends him stumbling to the ground near the bushes like the idiot Murphy is.  
“Here, take him. I'm fucking done!” he grits out, hands the flash drive to Coulson with a curt “Sir.” and enters the plane, almost shaking with anger, nausea and disgust. 

As it turns out, there are consequences for Agent Murphy as soon as they arrive back at Headquarters. Coulson has already informed the director of the turn of situation, and Fury, quite fitting to his name, doesn't take kindly to it at all.

*+~

Clint wakes with a strangled noise and clasps a hand over his mouth. He can't hear himself, and hopes he didn't wake up Coulson, who is (hopefully) asleep on the cot just a few feet over.  
Carefully, he gets up and moves soundlessly across the room, through the short hallway and into the bathroom. He closes the door, releases a shaky breath and sits down on the cold floor, curled up tightly with his forehead resting on his drawn up knees.

There isn't much space in this house. Only one room, a hallway, kitchen and bathroom. In the middle of nowhere in the woods, a small flimsy cabin, wind howling around it and creeping through cracks in the walls, under doors and windows.  
Coulson and Clint barely make it out of the warehouse, into a car and onto the road. They change vehicles three times, just to be sure, and hike the rest of the way through fields and finally, into the forest where the nearest safehouse is located.  
They make it there while the last bits of sun have vanished, and it's only the full moon shining through the leaves and branches. It would be a cozy place, if it wasn't for the fact that they're on mission and just escaped a hostage situation, having to wait for evacuation. Neither of them got any life threatening injuries, so they're not on the priority list.

Since they got out, Clint hasn't said a single word.  
Focusing on the next step is all he can do, and when they arrive at the safehouse, he brushes off Coulson's question, “Barton, are you okay?” and locks the bathroom door behind him as soon as he can.  
Breathing gets hard for a while, and he's overwhelmed with memories that have nothing to do with this OP. If only that one guy with the burning cigarette had worn another color shirt, had looked a little bit less like another, long dead man. 

That night, Phil wakes up from the muffled noise just a few feet away. His eyes snap open in an instant, and in the darkness he can only see silhouettes. But Barton is breathing hard, clearly trying to calm down, sitting upright on the small cot. Then he's out of bed and runs for the hallway, not making a single sound and one hand still pressed over his mouth.  
Worry sits hot in Phils stomach.  
He'd noticed the difference in the other man, ever since they got out of the warehouse. Something went wrong in a different way, and Phil can't put his finger on it, but he is sure that something, anything in this situation was different enough to trigger something in Clint. 

Debating whether or not he should follow to check on him, Phil stays seated upright for a little while. After a few minutes, he gets up and takes the hearing aids from the small table inbetween the two cots. Heading down the small hallway, he stops in front of the bathroom door. Knocking will be mostly useless, but he does so nonetheless before he opens the door.  
Phil is careful when he lowers himself down in front of the other man, not wanting to startle him. He lightly touches Barton's elbow with the back of his hand, because Phil knows the difference between touches that grab and those that don't. Clint still flinches and looks up with huge, panicked eyes, only relaxing a little bit when he realizes it's Phil.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you” he signs, then holds out a flat hand with the hearing aids on his palm.  
Clint takes a careful breath, then accepts them to put his ears in.  
“Didn't mean to wake you up, sorry Boss.”  
He sounds rough and exhausted, still trying to keep his breathing even. It won't take much for him to lose it at this point – he's not sure he can keep it together for much longer.  
“That's alright. I was gonna ask if you're okay.” Phil replies, voice low and calm as always – it's a small comfort.  
“Nothing work related.” Clint grits out, and closes his eyes again.  
Breathe. Out and in. Out and in.  
“Anything I can help you with?” he asks, because he means that. A slight shake of head is the answer.  
“Do you want company?” Phil asks instead, and after a moment, gets a small nod. Clint still breathes carefully even.  
“Is it okay when I come closer, or do you need me to stay a bit farther away?” he asks, and he means it. Clint just tugs at his sleeve a little bit, and Phil gets the message, scoots closer and wraps an arm around the younger man. To his surprise, he leans into him, face hidden and one hand tightly clamped down over his mouth, keeping in any noises, but he's shaking and Phil can feel a wet spot on his shoulder.  
He wraps his other arm around him, holds him close and waits for the storm to pass.

It's the first time probably ever, that Clint lets somebody this close to him when he's feeling this horrible.

*+~

They would have called each other “friend” for a while, but the last few months, where OP's and personal stuff pile up get difficult for numerous reasons, Clint and Phil grow closer.  
They spend a lot of time together, anyway. But it slowly starts to seep into their free time. Just hanging out, having lunch or dinner or a coffee. Watching shitty reality TV and passing out on the couch.  
One night around 3am, Clint wakes up to realize he snuggled up close to Phil in his sleep. He distances himself a bit, ignoring the voice in his head that already informs him he's definitively missing the slow, even breathing and warm body of another person. Better not go down that particular road – no fucking way. But it's already too late.  
He got a small taste of it, and Clint is already addicted. 

Well, shit. He better not be falling in love with his supervisor.

On a plane ride back from bumblefuck wherever-the-hell to the SHIELD base, they're both exhausted and kinda out of it from combat and blood loss, but not in critical condition. Clint sits with his head leaned back on the metal wall that's vibrating and making his headache much worse than before, but he can't stay upright any longer. He notices a sudden weight on his shoulder, and sluggishly notices that Phil dropped his head onto him, lets out a deep breath, and falls asleep as something deep in his chest settles.

He better not fall in frickin' love with Phil Coulson.

Well, okay. He's fucked. So. Very. Fucked. 

*+~ 2004/2005 ~+

“Agent Barton, report.”  
The calm and even voice in his ear is a constant, and has been for years. Familiar and comforting, a lifeline even in the most fucked up missions. He doesn't know anymore what to do without it.  
“I've got visual on the Widow. She's... Hesitating.” Clint lets out a long breath. 

He didn't expect any of this – his initial mission looks easy enough on paper.  
Locate the Black Widow. Stop her from getting another hit, take her out, return home.  
The woman he watches that night is far from the mindless killer the briefings prepared him for.  
He expected cold, calculated, messy murders.  
He sees a person with squared shoulders, a stony face and utterly lost eyes. Her target is close. She raises her weapon – and lowers it almost immediately. The man she was meant to take out is in the company of a little girl, no older than 7 or 8 years old – his niece, as far as Clint knows.  
Natalia Romanova stares in their direction, then packs up her gear and turns on her heel.

“Sir. Phil.”  
“Clint, what's going on?”  
“She – she's leaving. Her mark has a child with him, and she packed up her gear and turned away. This... I don't think it's too late for her.” Clint keeps his eyes on her, and prepares to follow.  
“Sir, I will not take this shot.”  
“Permission granted. Agent Barton, Clint, talk to me. What are you thinking?” Phil urges over the comms, but his tone is still even and calm. 

“I think we should take her in. Maybe we can offer her something better.” He replies quietly, as he watches Natalia from the rooftops, moving alongside her, high up like a creepy shadow.  
Phil is silent for a long moment, and Clint holds his breath.  
“Are you 100% sure?”  
“Yes Sir, I am sure.”  
There is a deep breath on the other end.  
“Alright, go talk to her. But if anything goes wrong, get the hell out of there. Try to recruit her if you can, but don't put yourself in unnecessary danger.”  
“Understood.”  
“Okay, Agent. On your call. I'll have your back, no matter what. But you'll have to be the one to explain this to Director Fury. Good Luck.”  
“Don't worry, Sir. I will.” He looks down, onto the street where the Black Widow is walking.  
“And thank you.”

The archer takes a deep breath. Here's hoping that for once, he can make a difference to a life instead of taking it on the job.  
He drops down from the roof and lands quite a few feet away from the Widow.  
Up close, she looks a lot smaller than he thought – her size doesn't fool him, he would be a dumbass if it would. As she turns around, her eyes look empty and lost, and surprisingly enough, she doesn't try to make a move on him.

In the end, it all works out.

*+~

Surprising absolutely no one, it falls to Phil and mostly Clint to interact and train with Nat, mainly because everyone else is at least a little bit wary of her. It doesn't bother her too much – it's easier to get used to fewer people at a time. And they work well together.  
Natasha finds that she trusts these men, who are so different and yet such a well matched team. A team in which they easily include her.  
It still stuns her a bit.  
They know who she is (was), what she did and what she is capable of. And yet they offer her a second chance, a home and a team. They're willing to turn their backs to her without a thought, without looking over their shoulder.  
It is that, and probably the blunt honesty in which they talk to each other and to her – it's easier to trust. She can't detect any foul games, and that's her expertise. There are none.

Clint, who she initially connects with is the first person to introduce her to shitty TV and homemade snacks on a weekend off. They hang out in his small, cramped apartment and he naturally breaks a still warm and oozy chocolate chip cookie in two pieces and offers her one half without thinking.  
Natasha, who knows hunger, mistrust and paranoia just as well as he does, recognizes it as the gesture of trust that it is, and can't help herself but smile a little bit as she takes the offered food.  
It's sweet and delicious, and she's never tasted anything like it.

*+~

When people work as closely, and spend as much time on and off the clock together as Strike Team Delta does, it's only natural they know each other well, even after a short period of time.  
It is a bit foreign to Natasha (she'd shaken her head 'no' at anyone trying to call her Natalia, and she'd signed all of the paperwork accordingly) but strangely enough, she trusts these two men more than she ever trusted anybody else. Even more so, she actually likes them, enjoys their company, as she's slowly learning how to be a human being, and not a hired gun.

While their team works on their own most of the time, there are occasions when they head out with another agent or two.  
Prague happens, and things to shit in a split second. The building is on fire, and they scramble to get out. The young agent who got assigned to this OP alongside them gets caught with a large piece of wood, and everything happens too fast to stop it. Natasha is closest, and even she isn't fast enough. It's all she can do to pull the man ('Joe, that's his name, Joe Walker') free and drag him outside. He's alive, but Natasha feels responsible for his injuries.  
Caring this much is still new to her. 

Natasha is quiet while they wait in medical, to get patched up and on updates about Agent Walker. But her quietness is not in her usual way, and Clint picks up on it. He assures her that none of this is her fault, and part of her wants to snap at him. She doesn't. Phil is telling her the same thing, but knowing something and believing it are two very different stories. They all know this.  
She camps out in Joe's room, in a cheap and uncomfortable plastic chair, waiting for him to wake up. Keeping watch until she's sure he will be okay.  
What she doesn't account for is the fact that someone who doesn't know her very well might be a tiny bit unsettled to wake up in a hospital room with the Black Widow staring at them.  
The poor guy almost shits himself.

Clint ends up under a table, howling with laughter when he hears about the incident, but he makes a point to visit Joe himself, and explain the he was, in fact, not about to get mauled.  
“Believe it or not, but she means well.”  
The younger Agent looks at him with huge eyes, mouth slightly agape. Clint nods a little, and continues,  
“You got hurt and she couldn't prevent it when she was the one closest to you when it happened. So Nat feels responsible for it. Doesn't matter that is wasn't her fault, or anyone else s fault. She just wanted to make sure that you're okay, in her own way.”  
Joe is honestly surprised. But he makes sure to thank Natasha next time he sees her, and she accepts it.


	3. 2006-2008

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,  
thanks for reading again! 
> 
> Please mind the trigger warnings, the angst is heavy in this one.  
As always, if you would like me to tag something else, please let me know.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> \- semi-graphic descriptions of gore  
\- suicice  
\- death  
\- violence  
\- PTSD

CHAPTER 3: 2006-2008

*+~ 2006

The thing is, Phil's priority in briefings and debriefings is the delivery of information.

As long as information gets delivered and they all can go on with their day, he's happy. And well, if Clint is going to give said information to him in a thick, fake but actually quite spot-on Glasgow accent, then so be it. He's getting better and better at it.

Besides, practicing foreign languages and accents is always useful.

Clint keeps talking, and the other Agents look like they slowly want to pull out their own hair. Phil on the other hand doesn't have any trouble understanding – he'd spent an entire year overseas when he was a student, and it sounds familiar to him, especially since Barton's impression of a Scotsman is getting quite good.

Natasha, long used to her partners shenanigans, watches with a stony face, but her left eyebrow twitches in silent amusement as the rest of her expression remains emotionless.

*+~

“Hi Phil!”

He stops in his steps, and takes in the scene in the room. There are Clint and Nat, heads stuck together in a “we're plotting things that will cause everyone else a headache”-manner.

Also, there is a live chicken cradled in Clint's lap, calmly and happily clucking and enjoying the gentle pets over it's feathered back. Clint brightly smiles up at Phil, which makes his heart miss a beat, not that he'd admit that.

Phil blinks.

The chicken is still there. So is the raccoon, that is currently trying to eat Natasha's hair.

Phil turns on his heel to get out.

“Bye Phil!”

*+~

The gym is nearly empty, with it being 3am. The only people in there are on the mats, clad in lose training gear and with bare feet.

“So...” Natasha says, effortlessly throwing Clint over her shoulder, who grunts and rolls off, swiping at her legs in the motion.

“Are you going to do something about Phil?” She blocks him off, and lands a punch to his chest, pulls him down and holds him in a choke with her thighs. He claps out, they get back up and start again.

“What about him?” he asks, when he can breathe again. After a back-and forth, he quickly steps around Nat, managing to hold her in a headlock for a moment. She responds by biting his arm. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it is enough to startle him and get free. He wipes the saliva off on his pants.

“Ew, gross.”

“You like him, do you not?”

“Well duh, he's my best friend, along with you. Of course I like him.”

That gets him another hit to the chest, annoyed this time.

“Don't play stupid Barton, you know exactly what I mean.”

They continue sparring, and it looks like a dance. A dangerous, potentially lethal dance, but a dance nonetheless.

“I do.” he finally answers. “I do, but... I don't wanna fuck up what we have.”

“He cares about you very much, you know. But he won't do anything, unless you make the first step.”

And that's the problem, isn't it? If he's being honest, Clint is scared shitless of losing Phil, especially through something like this. Feelings.

“Why? I can't risk this, I just can't.”

Natasha stops and taps a time out to step closer, and puts a hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble, hot skin and sweat. She looks him right in the eyes.

“He won't do anything, because he knows your background, Clint. At least some of it.”

“Of course he does. I trust him.”

“Yes, you do. And rightfully so, I think. But he is in a position of power and significantly older than you.”

“11 years. It's not that much.”

“Enough. And in a position of power. He won't do anything because he knows that others in this very position have used and abused that power. He wouldn't want to take advantage of you. He cares about you, Clint. It's kind of disgusting how much, because I have to deal with both your pining asses.”

That gets her a small smile, but she's dead serious as she fixes him with her green eyes, and that takes the air out of him. Clint just nods, not responding with anything else.

“Go and tell him, sort this out. You both deserve to be happy.”

“And you won't have to deal with our pining asses. Yeah yeah, got it.” He smiles lopsidedly at her which gets him a punch to the upper arm, but she smiles back.

It takes a few days for Clint to gather up the courage and actually do something about this though.

He lets himself into Phil's office after a short knock – his usual pattern. Phil looks up from his wonky pile of paperwork and greets him with a smile.

“Oh, Hi Clint.”

“Hey Phil. Uh, do you have a minute?” he asks, nervousness creeping up on him. It shows.

“Of course. Everything okay?” Phil asks, because of course he picks up on it, and wants to help. He steps closer, only stopping a few feet away from his friend.

“Yes. I mean, no, I...” The archer stops, and breathes a few times.

“Clint?” Phil sounds concerned.

“If it's okay with you.” the younger man says, “If it's okay, I would like to kiss you now, Phil.”

He looks him into the deep blue eyes, and there are so many different emotions he can read. Then, a bright smile spreads over Phils face, making his eyes crinkle in the way that only real smiles do on him. His features grow soft, as he answers,

“Yes, I would like that very much.” he agrees, and lets Clint close the distance between them.

They kiss then, and they hold onto each other, hands on broad shoulders and lips surprisingly soft. There would be quite a few cheesy lines to describe this, worthy of cheap romance novels, but they're so utterly happy, it doesn't matter.

Time loses all meaning.

Phil and Clint almost miss Natasha, who stealth-drops a report onto the desk and leaves the room with a huff, and a fond “Finally, it was about time.” as she closes the door behind her and leaves them alone.

They break apart for a moment and laugh, but they distract each other soon enough.

*+~ 2007

Once again, the OP goes ass over teakettle and nearly blows up in their faces. Story of their life.

Strike Team Delta ends up on their way to a cozy little house in Wisconsin, and Natasha looks over to Clint, seemingly uncertain.

“It's okay, they're safe.” he tells her, and that is enough for her. If he trusts them, then so can she. They're Phil's family, after all, and she trusts him as well.

Clint, in contrast to that OP a few years ago when he first met them, isn't nervous anymore. Since he and Phil got together, he'd met them twice, for Thanksgiving and Christmas and got to know them a little bit more. They talk on the phone on a semi-regular basis.

He's comfortable around them, and when Julie Coulson threatened to adopt him, he'd burst out laughing and asked if that requires different paperwork for adults, but he appreciates it. More than he's ready to admit.

Thanksgiving was also the first time he'd met Anna and Lauren, Phils older and younger sisters with their families. Both of them have toddlers, and then there is Matt with his eleven year old twins. He is widowed, since his wife, and Phils oldest sister Joanna died in a car crash almost ten years ago. Which is something Clint knows about, since Phil told him about her, one quiet evening at home, when the old grief hit him.

All of them include Clint into their circle immediately, and he's happy to see them whenever he can.

When they arrive, Julie and Robert wait in the open door, and happily pull them inside. Julie pulls her boys in her usual bone crushing hugs full of motherly love, kisses them on the cheek and welcomes Natasha with a handshake, holding her hand inbetween hers as she tells her she's happy to meet her. Robert greets their visitors just as hearty, and Natasha smiles back, thanks them for the welcome.

Most people wouldn't pick up on her well hidden nervousness, but Clint does, and smiles at her with a slight nod of head.

Nat, being used to adapt to situations, does her best and soon, thaws around Julie and Robert.

They have two days, and by the end of it, Phil shoots his parents a knowing look – he's pretty sure they're already plotting another adoption. He's glad, knowing that they took Natasha in like they did.

She's like another sister to him, after all.

*+~

The leaves on the ground spread out all over the small cemetery, spreading a golden-brown blanket all over the place that crunches under every step. It's a rainy day, and the sky is hung a foggy gray and white. It's chilly, and the two men are wrapped in warm coats and scarfs.

Wisconsin is beautiful in the fall.

Phil is glad that he isn't alone.

Joanna's anniversary of death had been a week ago, but Phil (and Clint for that matter) was out of the country at the time. Now he's holding his partners warm hand as they walk inbetween the little headstones, fingers intertwined, solid and safe. It takes a few minutes until they arrive at the place where Joanna found her rest. 10 years without her feel like eternity and no time at all at the same time.

Phil is feeling a bit misty, and Clint lets go of his hand to wrap an arm around him instead, leaning close to offer body heat and comfort. Phil accepts it, stepping closer and allowing himself to be held for a moment. They're off the clock, no one is watching them – he needs to remind himself of it.

Agent Coulson and Agent Barton they left back home – right now they're simply Phil and Clint, and it's okay. Clint kisses his temple, and he closes his eyes for a moment, focused on breathing in and out.

“It's a shame the two of you never met. You would have loved each other.” Phil says, lifting his head from Clint's shoulder to look at him, a little sad smile on his lips.

“I'm sure of it. She's part of your family, after all.” Clint replies quietly. He rubs small circles on his back while they stand.

The wind takes up, and the leaves whirl around them.

It's like Joanna wants to send them a sign, and Phil chooses to count it as an agreement.

*+~ 2008

Budapest is a mess.

The Red Room splinter group they're here to neutralize fights back with everything they have, and it ends in a bloodbath – how the three of them make it out of there alive, they wouldn't be able to tell, but they manage it. Barely.

Natasha, unlike her usual self, is a shaking, anxious mess by the end of it, and she holds onto Clint hard enough to leave bruises, afraid she'll end up alone again. He stays close, letting her grab his arm and ignores the pain while trying to calm her down.

That night, he and Phil take turns in keeping watch while the other holds her close to get some sleep until extraction arrives.

She lets them, quietly thankful for the support.

She's come a long way, from spending the nights handcuffing herself onto the bed to be able to find find sleep – one of the few habits that's still left from her life with the Red Room, and even after her deprogramming.

But she is her own person now, and they can't take that from her.

The first person to catch on to it was, of course Clint. They'd had to share a sleeping space in a cramped safe house, and she'd nearly snapped his head off in frustration and fear after her secret was out.

He let her rage, and when she was done, simply asked if she would allow him to help her.

That night, she slept without the handcuffs for the first time since she was a young child, simply held by a gentle hand instead of cold, hard metal.

This time, they return back home from Budapest with new scars, blood on their hands and staining their clothes, but with an even closer bond.

*+~

It's one of the few occasions where they head out on separate OP's.

They're scattered all over the world and depart with smiles on their faces, joking and agreeing to meet up after, in the cafeteria.

“Home sweet home, with Mystery Meat Day, pasta with glue and other questionable food choices.”

The day comes, and it's only Phil and Nat who meet, worried and picking at their food.

Clint's team missed their latest check-ins and there is not one of them in sight.

They prepare to head out before the third check in is missed, and by the time Fury gives the order, they're ready to go right at this second.

Intel lands them in an abandoned warehouse in Ohio and as soon as they enter, the smell of death hits them.

There is something scarily distinctive about the coppery smell of blood filling their lungs, so is the _wet_ of intensities that fills the air in particularly nasty places. Worry sits tight in their stomachs, and hope that they will find people who are still alive.

And they do – three Agents are still alive, and at least physically, they're not too bad off. Conscious, breathing and able to walk out even though it is on shaky legs and with carefully closed off faces.

Five of SHIELD's people return home in body bags, and so are the several dozen civilians – more than half of them are children.

On the way to New York, Clint fights off the medics, staggers over to Phil and nearly falls down onto the seat next to him. He doesn't speak, just shakes his head and takes the hand that Phil is offering him in an attempt of comfort. Clint doesn't allow any more touch than that, won't let anyone else but Phil and Natasha near him.

In the debriefing, he only talks when necessary. Short sentences, and only the needed details. He keeps most of the events to himself, and so do his two surviving colleagues.

Agent Camila Gonzalez, who is usually a bright eyed, easy going person looks pale, barely hidden grief in her dark brown eyes and her hands are constantly shaking.

She's usually steady, having spent many weeks alongside Clint in sniper training and other courses. He knows her, and has shared a drink or two alongside her and other colleagues after work.

Her calm, steady voice and strong physical presence are infamous at SHIELD. Most of the big special force operatives look like dwarfs next to her, a solid block of muscle and long legs. She towers over Clint with at least 15 inches more on her side. Irony of the story is that she's one of the nicest people he's ever met.

One year, at the annual Christmas party, she'd arrived with her partner, a tiny bouncy woman with buzzed hair, a bow tie on top of a brightly colored suit and kind eyes that sparkle with joy.

Clint likes them both very much, and he can't help but think that he's glad that at least Cam made it out of this alive.

Next to Camila, her work partner Agent Michael Williams is equally pale and quiet.

His shaking hands are hidden under the table, but he stares ahead the entire time, barely reacting.

When Director Fury calls out a 30 minute break, he gets up without a word and disappears. Half and hour comes and goes, and he isn't back at the conference room.

Cam doesn't leave the door out of her sight, and when Michael doesn't show up again, she excuses herself to go look for him.

She returns 10 minutes later, shaking violently and with tears in her eyes. She found her friend, hanging in a stall in the men's bathroom. By his feet, there is a short note, scrawled with a spotty pen. Two words are on it.

_I'm sorry._

Gonzalez and Barton are both put on medical leave at once, and are assigned to mandatory therapy.

Clint asks if it is possible to see his own therapist – Dr. Langer has known him for many years now, and she was the first doctor he trusted.

It took him almost a dozen attempts to find a therapist that doesn't make his skin crawl, even when they have no relation to SHIELD at all.

To say that he and SHIELD medical have a tense relationship would be generous. Psych department especially. Clint hates talking to them, for more than one reason.

He refuses to open up to someone who will write down every breath, every word and every emotion that might slip past his self control, just to report it back to his employer.

Finding Dr. Langer was a relief, and it's partially thanks to Phil that he found her.

Talking to her has never been a problem in the past – but this time, SHIELD denies him that, for clearance reasons.

He gets assigned to one of their shrinks, and everything goes downhill from there.

After his first appointment, he's tense and exhausted, doesn't protest when Phil maneuvers him into his car to drive home.

Phil's apartment has always been home to him, even before they started a romantic relationship. It's always helped before, but this time, Clint is still tense there, doesn't want to talk.

He spends an hour in the shower, turning on every faucet he can find to muffle the sounds as he spends the majority of the time sitting on the floor, crying into his hands.

When he emerges again, Phil is there with a fresh cooked meal, hot tea and open arms to help him through the night. Clint only manages to pick at the food, not talking, too exhausted for anything.

In bed, when Clint he thinks that he's asleep, Phil can feel his shoulders shaking and hear him sobbing into a pillow, trying to drown out the sounds.

Something twists up in his guts, and he carefully scoots closer to Clint, wrapping an arm around his upper body with his face resting near the crook of his neck.

Phil knows he won't be wearing his hearing aides now, but he talks quietly nonetheless, hoping that the slight movement and vibrations of it will help his partner calm down.

Clint holds onto the hand near his chest, his grip shaky but tight, as if he's afraid that Phil will suddenly vanish. In between heavy breathes, all he says over an over again in a rough, wrecked voice is,

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

Phil holds him closer, speaking even though Clint can't hear him right now.

“It's not your fault.”, “You're safe” and “I love you.”

He taps the words out in code, a gentle pattern with his other hand on Clint's upper arm, hoping the words will come through.

It takes time, but it seems to work out.

Clint turns around, pushing into Phil's embrace. He's still shaking, there are still tears that run free, but his breathing is getting calmer. Phil strokes his hair and keeps doing this until they both fall asleep.

This is how most of their days go now.

Both arrive at SHIELD in the mornings. Phil tackles meetings and paperwork while Clint is busy trying to get through therapy – he's anxious and mistrusting, asking for permission to change therapists again multiple times.

Phil signs off on it every time, talking to Fury and trying to make him see sense, but it gets denied every time – clearance, they keep telling him, and it's getting old.

Clint stops asking, but he's getting more and more distant every single day.

With Natasha sent off to other missions, Phil being pulled off into multiple meetings at all times of the day and a therapist he doesn't trust, he feels like his entire, hard fought for support system is crumbling away.

One day, after sessions, Clint doesn't wait in Phil's office like he usually does.

That day, he slips away into his SHIELD quarters, which are cold and nearly empty. He doesn't spend much time there, usually going home to Phil's apartment, even more so than he drives to his own.

There are the standard issue bed, couch and kitchen, the cramped bathroom in the back.

He looks around with empty eyes, and slowly walks to the table, where one of his switchblades is hidden.

He takes it out and locks himself in the bathroom.

By the time Phil catches on to what is happening, Clint is already bleeding and slowly passing out.

He lets himself in, nearly kicking in the doors, his partners name on his lips in a panicked shout. He steps into a puddle of blood, trying to stop it and calling for help.

Clint is too out of it to register any of it.

Clint wakes up in medical with a head full of cotton and his arms throbbing in a dull pain, partially drowned out by pain killers. He blinks.

Next to his bed, asleep in an uncomfortable plastic chair is Phil, looking pale, tense and restless in his rumpled suit. There is stubble in his usually clean shaven face, dark smudges under his eyes and he startles awake as soon as Clint shifts.

Many emotions cross his face as he sits down on the edge of his bed, taking his hand and smoothing back his unruly blond hair. Phil looks like he's at a loss for words, and he stays close. Clint isn't entirely sure, since he's slipping off into sleep again, but it feels like there are hot tears dripping down his neck that are not his own.

When he wakes up the next time, Natasha is curled up near the end of his bed, wide awake and fumbling with a lose thread in the blanket. Both of them are a steady presence, until he's allowed to go home.

Miraculously, his request to see Dr. Langer instead of the SHIELD assigned shrink finally got approved and her security clearance bumped up.

Clint finds out later, that this was Phil's doing, that he filed the necessary paperwork, marched into Fury's office and informed him rather than asked, suggesting they approve or else. It's a good thing that Nick Fury considers him a friend.

It's a slow, emotionally painful process, but things are slowly getting better.

*+~

The vibrating phone rises Clint out of his funk.

He's still on medical leave, although he is no longer on suicide watch. He's at Phil's place, but the man himself got called into the office.

Phil had taken some leave, to keep Clint company and help him recover, even after the mandatory suicide watch ended. Just to make sure.

But today there is some kind of urgent meeting and his presence is needed, so he went, promising to be back as soon as he could. Clint sent him off, promising to be alright.

And now his phone demands his attention. The flashing name on the display, along with the photo informs him that it's Tasha calling. It's a snapshot of her from when they went out to get coffee, and she holds up a cup that is bigger than her head, face stony and unimpressed, one eyebrow raised.

“Hey, Nat.”

“Hi, so I may or may not have a problem.”

Clint frowns. This doesn't sound like Natasha at all, and worry creeps into his stomach.

“What's going on, are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes, I'm sorry I didn't mean to... This is kinda stupid.”

Clint blinks. Doesn't sound like an emergency after all, but still not typical for Nat.

“Ooookay?”

“So you know, _certain people_ keep telling me it would be good to have social contacts outside of work? I've been chatting with my next door neighbor in the hallway, this little old lady, you know. Mrs. Graham. She asked me if I was interested in joining this charity bake sale, and I said yes. Turns out, out of the many skillsets I have, baking isn't one of them. I'm not entirely sure what it is that I've produced here, but I am sure that we can probably weaponize it. The event is in two days and I refuse to waste more food in attempting this. I know you like to bake, so... Can you help me, Clint?”

This... is not even on the list of emergencies he'd mentally prepared for. He blinks.

“Yeah, sure. Can you come over? I'm not supposed to drive with the meds I'm on. Maybe pick up some groceries, and bring along your other attempts. I'm sure we can save some if not all of it.”

Her answer sounds warm and honestly relieved.

“Thank you, really. I owe you. I'll be there soon!”

When the doorbell rings about an hour later, Clint opens the door to a small mountain of grocery bags and Tupperware containers. A pair of legs that he's fairly sure are Tasha's are poking out of it, and he takes some of the load off of her.

She smiles at him, and together they begin to tackle the issue in the kitchen.

There are many different ingredients, and quite a few half-burned and dried out, lumpy cakes.

Natasha looks upset at the sight, and Clint understands.

Both of them know hunger intimately well, having grown up with little to no food at times and he too hates wasting food. Thankfully, he knows a trick or two.

The charity bake sale is to raise money for a local women's shelter, Natasha tells him as they cut off burned parts off of the baked goods and crumble up the good parts, mixing it with chocolate ganache and forming it into little balls for cake pops that they coat with melted chocolate later. Naturally, she want's to help the cause, even though her baking is... Not exactly the best.

And Nat hates it when she isn't good at something.

Today, Clint teaches her how to turn seemingly messed up cake into delicious, edible snacks, how to hydrate dried out layers with simple syrup and top it up with buttercream and fruits.

They make some scraps into sweet, gooey bread-pudding-but-with-cake, and Clint whips up some puff pastry to fill, and three batches of his infamous chocolate chip cookies to do his own part for the charity.

The kitchen is a mess, but it's a fun day and Clint finds himself smiling more, happy to have a distraction and time with his best friend.

When all is done and the last tray is baking, they scrubbed the kitchen clean. Natasha steps close to him, wrapping both arms around him and resting her head below his shoulder, the highest part of him that she can reach without stretching out.

“I'm glad you're here.”

Her words are quiet, and he almost misses them, but they're definitively are there. She runs gentle fingers over the raised, pink scars on his right arm, wipes a bit of stray chocolate off of it.

Clint hugs her back, holding her close and lost for words.

He knows she is still worried about him.

Both of them needed this afternoon, and they remain wrapped around each other for a little while.

When Natasha slowly pulls away, he tells her a quick and quiet “Love you.” and then the oven timer interrupts the moment.

When Phil enters the apartment that evening, the smell of fresh baking and melted chocolate wafts through the air and makes his mouth water. There are mountains of plastic containers on the counter, the tray with the bread pudding covered in the kitchen, ready to re-heat for them.

As he enters the living room, he is greeted by the sight of a large lump of blankets on the couch. It contains his two favorite people, fast asleep and snuggled up while re-runs of old TV shows flicker over the flatscreen on the wall.

Something eases in his chest, and he smiles.


	4. 2009-2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It get's better. Until it very much doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again,  
and thanks once again for reading!
> 
> Did I say the angst is heavy? Well, it certainly gets worse in this one....  
Please, again, mind the Trigger Warnings. If you want me to add anything else please let me know.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:
> 
> \- Suicide  
\- PTSD  
\- Survivors Guilt  
\- Sexual assault / rape  
\- Graphic violence and injuries

CHAPTER 4: 2009-2012

*+~ 2009

Clint returns to active duty almost 7 months after his suicide attempt.

He's still struggling, but the ratio of good days vs bad days is alright. Besides, his head has always been a bit screwed up. There have been panic, triggers and fucked up thoughts ever since he can remember, scars that are not the result of accidents or other people.

Clint still always managed to do his job, to be a professional and be really fucking good at it. He knows his struggles and is actively working on them – hence the standing appointments with Dr. Langer.

She is happy with the progress he's making, and after all these months, she signs off on the paperwork that will clear him for active SHIELD duty again.

The first day back, Clint runs into Camila when he's on the way to get coffee around lunch time. She quickly pulls him into a hug, which he returns a bit stunned after a moment. They end up on a table in the corner, nursing gigantic cups of strong coffee and they just talk. About the last few months, the mission and the aftermath. About Michael.

It's painful, but not overwhelming.

Camila returned to active duty just two weeks earlier, having dealt with her own loss and grief – Michael to her is what Natasha is to Clint, pretty much. So there is a lot of mutual understanding.

“Hey, so, if you ever want to talk to someone who was there as well, you know, just come find me. I'll be happy to listen.” he offers quietly and a little bit awkward, but Cam accepts, offering the same in return.

They depart in different directions, feeling just a little bit lighter.

Clint picks up another two cups of coffee, and lets himself into Phils office where he sits down on top of the desk, hands over one of the paper cups and starts telling Phil about the conversation he's just had.

It feels a bit like healing, too.

*+~

They have the rare long weekend off and are on the way to see the family. It's not often besides big holidays that they have the opportunity to go and see them.

The kids are excited, as always to see their uncles. It's not nearly often enough, and they cherish every minute of it. Phil and Clint stay over at Matt's house this time, where he lives alone with his two girls.

Alice and Debbie are the two oldest of all the children, and they just entered the teen phase, all with colorful hair and interesting, questionable assortments of fashion.

Matt looks mostly confused at the whole thing, but he lets them, helping them choose between various shades of green and blue hair dye and standing in the back of concerts that make his ears bleed while the twins dance in front of the stage, as happy as they can be.

Lauren and her husband Josh join them for lunch and dinner most days, bringing along Daniel and Judy, who are four and five years old, all bright eyes and gap toothed smiles as they run around the place.

Anna and Chris spend most of the time with the family, too. Sally and Ben, around the same age as their young cousins, join them in their little mischief while Marie sleeps in her portable bed, or any adults arms. When they arrive they hand the little girl over to their uncles who haven't had a chance to met the smallest member of the family yet.

“It's been a while” says Phil, smiling down at the small bundle with dark hair sticking out on the top, then hands her over to Clint, who is simultaneously afraid of accidentally hurting her and being super protective.

Little Marie, unimpressed, just snuggles closer to him and keeps sleeping. There is a look of wonder and astonishment in his eyes as he looks down at the small human in his arms.

Phil, who is busy staring at the scene with a dopey smile almost spills coffee all over himself and gets a knowing smile from his Mom who watches him watching Clint interacting with the child.

If this was a cartoon, there would be little hearts swirling around Phil's head.

*+~ 2010

It all starts with Clint kicking the crap out of a bunch of thugs who were cruel enough to throw a dog into traffic. One thing leads to the other, and it ends with Clint calling Phil on his private phone, blurting out,

“So uhh, I think we got a dog now? Long story but I thought you should know. So yeah. Uh.. Sorry?”

Phil blinks. It's not that often that he has no idea what to say.

“What... How – what even is going on?” he asks dumbfolded, scratching at his thinning hair and looking at the dying, potted plant in the corner of the room as if it holds the answer to his questions.

Clint ends up explaining the whole story over the phone, while he waits in the vet's office for the mutt to come out of surgery. Of course, he already fell in love with the animal.

When Phil arrives half an hour later, they wheeled him out again, and Clint is gently running his hands through the thick fur. Which is the second that Phil throws caution in the wind and decides that he's in in this. He carefully pats the big, fluffy head and leans close to Clint, who looks at him with a small smile.

“He saved my life.” Clint says quietly, and turns back to the one eyed dog who is still groggy, but happily leans into the touch.

Of course, he comes home with them and they name him Lucky.

Lucky is the happiest, most spoiled dog ever and he's loved fiercely by his humans.

*+~

Exactly four years after the day Clint stepped into Phil's office to kiss him for the first time, Phil invites him out to a rooftop dinner and later that night, bends down on one knee with a pair of silver rings in his hand.

The “yes!” he gets in response is the best thing he's ever heard.

Both of them spend the rest of the night in a haze of happiness, pleasure and heat of their tangled bodies. It all feels like a dream, and when they wake up the next morning, sheets a mess and urgently due for a shower, it is all still real.

“I love you so much.” they keep telling each other over coffee, and then they head out to start their day in the office.

*+~

The world almost stops when Natasha falls unconscious in the field and is rushed to medical.

Things look bad for a while, and neither Clint or Phil leave for long – at least one of them remains close at all times, holding her hand and quietly talking in the hopes she will be able to hear them. It takes a while, but eventually, she wakes up and starts recovering. The knock-off serum she got in the Red Room helps her heal, so it doesn't go nearly as bad as it probably would have otherwise.

Head injuries are a nasty thing.

One thing that Natasha quietly mourns (and feels stupid and childish about) is the loss of her long, red locks. In order to operate her, the doctors had to buzz parts of it off, and not much of it is left, despite the new growth.

Late one evening, she's fed up with it, and has Clint help her up into the bathroom, where she hands him a pair of scissors and electric clippers.

“Here, do something. I don't care how short it is, as long as it doesn't look like I lost a fight with the lawnmower like it does now.” she instructs in ASL since her voice is still a bit wrecked due to all the tubes that were in her throat, sitting still and trusting her best friends steady hands.

She ends up with a pretty badass undercut, the longest locks on top of her head, and she smiles as she runs her hands over the closely buzzed sides.

“If it's the milkshake that brings boys to the yard. What does it take for the girls to come?” she rasps, and it sounds painful. Clint huffs a small laugh, shooting her a lopsided smile.

“That much effort for a pun?” he asks, and Nat nods, and her eyes are shining again.

“Probably a smoothie and a visit in the hardware store.” he jokes, and Natasha actually laughs out loud. Or, as loud as she currently can.

When she is allowed to go home some time later, Clint and Phil pick her up and hand her a gigantic cup with a bright pink smoothie in it. The trip to the hardware store is justified with “We need a new bathroom light, ours just broke this morning, honestly!” and a mischievous grin, but she knows it for what it is and goes along with it, quiet but gleeful.

She enters the boy's apartment with a big smile, handfuls of paint chips, two cute girls phone numbers hastily scrawled on pieces of paper and a half empty smoothie.

Three months later, she stands in a stunning, forest green dress next to Clint, smiling a real smile and watches him say “Yes” to Phil. She's handing a tissue to Lauren who stands next to her brother, already bawling her eyes out in happiness.

When they read out their own, personalized wedding vows, everyone who didn't cry before does so now – both grooms included.

It's a good thing they decided to keep the event as small as it is.

*~+ 2011/ 2012

Time flies, and things get hectic for a long time.

Starting out the year with a short honeymoon, they get back half a week sooner than planned, and a bunch of emergencies and mysterious events that need sorting out.

Then they are assigned on base in New Mexico, and there are gods and hammers and a whole goddamn mess. Then the Pegasus Operation happens and everything goes to shit.

Clint spends about a week under Loki's control, and when he comes back to himself, thanks to Natasha hitting him in the head, he wakes up in a world that might end soon.

He wakes up to _his _world ending, because Phil is fucking _dead_.

Clint fights, because there is no choice, and inbetween aliens, missiles and Schawarma he finds himself surrounded by a new team.

Natasha is by his side the whole time, and when nighttime hits, he desperately clings onto her.

They send off Thor with Loki and the Tesseract, and then there is Phil's funeral.

Clint walks in a daze of pain, exhaustion and suppressed emotions that he refuses to show in public.

He didn't sleep, having spent most of his time after everything in SHIELD medical and laboratories, being poked with science and getting questioned about things he does and does not remember, trying to figure out if he is at fault for what happened or not. All the while, Clint is busy blaming and hating himself for everything.

He stays stoic in front of other people – refusing to show how much this hurts, refusing to be vulnerable to be judged or mocked. Everything he does can be used against him, his brain keeps telling him, and he holds back the entire time.

Julie and Robert Coulson hug him close. So do Anna and Lauren, the kids and their fathers.

Clint wonders quietly how they can stand to be close to him after all of this, and it takes even more effort not to cry then.

He breathes carefully, keeping his emotions in check and hoping they will have a little time after, and he stays close to Nat.

Until he needs to find a bathroom.

They take him there, because Secretary Ross is not known for mercy, especially when he has his eyes on a decided enemy.

Everything around Clint seems to be far away, feels like he's under water. He keeps breathing evenly, refusing to show anything on his face.

Keep calm.

Keep it together.

Faintly, he can hear Natasha demanding they let go of him, feels somebody pulling on him, while trying not to hurt him, feels Ross' men pulling him back, not caring how rough they are.

Nearby, he can hear Stark yelling profanities at Ross, and more voices talking over each other and if he wasn't so completely out of it, he would have been touched by the fight they pull up.

As it is, it all remains useless, and then he's being shoved into a car.

*+~

The guards are bored and creative, while Ross doesn't care what happens to any of his prisoners – Clint learns that the hard way, with his face pressed into the cold and unforgiving concrete floor, tasting blood and _hurting_ all over while he's being held down and the guards have their fun.

At first, he tells them to go fuck themselves, but soon, it's all he can do to bite down on his lips to stop himself from screaming.

There are hand shaped, deep purple bruises all over his arms, throat and hips. Breathing is hard – even more so when they dislocate his jaw and leave him like that, until one guard punches it back into place, sneering at him to “stop looking so fucking ugly.”

It being dislocated hurt – but the swollen, bruised and throbbing jaw being forced back into place hurts more.

Clint taps out for a bit after that, retreating into his head space where he doesn't have to think or feel anymore.

The next thing he knows is that someone is behind him, and he sluggishly tries to fight them off. He's too worn out, not strong enough to do anything at this point. There is pain ripping through him, hands and blood, and he lashes out with his elbows.

It's no use, and whoever attacks him this time, responds with biting his shoulder until he draws blood and leaves a teeth shaped wound.

Clint retreats back into his headspace so he doesn't have to deal with it anymore.

*+~

Next thing he knows, he is in a car and Natasha is there, frantically driving to what he can only hope is some place safe.

Clint doesn't know how long he was out. Time has lost all meaning, but he finds himself in a soft and warm bed, wounds bandaged and the pain like a throbbing background noise, muffled by medication that makes him sluggish. He blinks.

The room around him is unfamiliar, but Natasha is there, and she's sitting on the side of his bed.

She looks a mess, unkempt hair and dark smudges in her pale face. There are tears in her eyes, and he slowly reaches out for her hand, unable to vocalize more than a weak “Tasha?”.

She reaches back, taking his hand and holding it tight.

“You're safe, Clint. I promise, they won't get you here, you're safe. You're safe.”

He's not sure if she repeats it for his or her own sake. It might be both. Clint drifts off into sleep again.

When the haze of drugs clears up, they tell him he's in the medical wing of Stark Tower (Avengers Tower now, they add). The battle and everything else happened weeks ago, almost three months, they say.

Medical wants to keep an close eye on him, but they allow him to move upstairs, where, to his surprise, there is a whole apartment waiting for him and he doesn't know what to do with it. Natasha keeps close to his side, quietly explaining how after everything the team decided to stay close together.

After he was taken, she explains, not only her but the other Avengers as well raised holy hell with Fury, the World Security Council and Ross in an attempt to get him back.

WSC didn't care much, needing a scapegoat after everything that happened. Fury's influence isn't what it once was, they are told. Ross? Is a fucking bastard in his own category.

After all, Nat pretty much broke him out and technically kidnapped him, but with Fury's protection, as well as Stark, JARVIS, a bunch of his lawyers and the other Avengers.

That's a whole bunch of people fighting for him, Clint thinks, and doesn't know how to respond.

*+~

When Clint closes the bedroom door in his new apartment behind him and sits down on the bed, it feels like everything is crashing down on him at once.

He can't breathe, overwhelmed and still hurting, not just physically. Throbbing pain of old and new injuries is still a constant sensation. The feeling of hands that just won't go away, no matter how often he showers. But the feeling of Phil's absence is the worst pain of all.

The soft surface is easy to sink into, and Clint curls up as tight as he can onto himself, hands fisted into the pillow that is muffling his deep, wrecking sobs and soaking up the months worth of tears that he wouldn't – _couldn't_ let go of until now.

The bed dips down, with the weight of another, much smaller person. In the blur of everything, he can make out the bright red hair and the faint, familiar smell of that one brand of shampoo that Natasha always uses. Her words are gentle, but he can't make any sense of them. She's close to him,warm breath on his neck and a head pillowed on his shoulder. She doesn't touch him any more, keeping her hands to herself and Clint loves her for it.

He wouldn't be able to stand the touch at the moment, even when it's from her.

*+~

In the following weeks, days and months, Clint feels broken in a way that, despite everything he's survived until now, he's never felt before.

Natasha stays close to him for as long as she can, keeping him company in the slow and halting recovery process, at night when everything hits again and in the days when he's getting to know his team. For real this time, without anyone shooting at them. But eventually, SHIELD needs her specific skillset and she gets sent out again.

Clint spends a lot of time down in the labs, because either Bruce or Tony is down there a lot of the time, and it's easier to breathe the same air with someone when they're busy. He stays in the back, napping on the couch where he knows other humans are close.

Surprisingly or not, the two scientists easily earn his trust.

Bruce is the only doctor (medical or not, he doesn't care) Clint will let near him after he moved from medical, not trusting any of them, even when they're not SHIELD.

Dr Banner doesn't talk very much, but he is always calm, always asking if it is okay to touch even when it's obvious that he has to in order to treat the still oozing bite on Clint's back.

The bruises faded to a dark, greenish yellow but the hand shapes are still obvious.

On one of the early days he offers his support if Clint wants to take action against the people who are responsible for those. But he shakes his head no, fighting back his emotions and breathing hard for a minute or two.

“It's no use. It'll go public eventually, and someone _will _use this against me. It always happens, sooner or later.” he rasps out, and Bruce apologizes, doesn't ask again, but tells him they all have his back, no matter what.

Clint refuses to burst into tears down there, but it's a near thing. Bruce just hands him a steaming mug of herbal tea and turns around to pack away his medical supplies, giving him a bit of privacy without leaving.

Tony, if you ignore all the obnoxious dickishness that he uses as his own personal suit of armor, is easy to get along with.

Clint is able to look past all the bullshit because honestly, if someone knows how to build walls for the purpose of self-protection, it's him. So they just know and they get along, not bothering with putting up exhausting fronts. It works out.

Often times, he'll chill out in the back of his lab with a book or some wood to carve, only reacting to groan at some of Tony's godawful puns and to occasionally drag him upstairs when they run out of coffee and snacks.

Whenever Thor or Steve are there, the team meets up for dinner and movie nights.

Somehow, they all grow together, and it's different from anything Clint ever had, but he finds that he doesn't mind being around these people.

He trusts and likes every single one of them, which is a rare thing. It helps, especially with Natasha often away on missions, and with the still painful hole in his life where Phil once was.

He talks on the phone to his in-laws, nieces and nephews on a regular basis, and although he loves them all dearly, the pain in his chest blooms up every time.

Matt, Alice and Debbie visit once, shortly after medical cleared him. Clint is pretty out of it at the time, and asks Natasha where Lucky is.

“He's safe”, she tells him, because the twins and their dad have taken care of him since he and Phil got assigned to the mess in New Mexico that lead to everything else.

They show up after Natasha calls, and Lucky presses himself close to his human, refusing to leave. The dog always had a knack for knowing when somebody is sad or anxious and attaches himself to them in an attempt to help.

All in all, the visit is short and somewhat painful. Clint is exhausted by the end of it, because he's trying his best to keep it together, not wanting to scare or upset anyone.

Lucky stays with him constantly, and the team falls in love with the dog.

Someone always keeps them company when they go on walks in the park, and it takes Clint an embarrassing long time for a Secret Agent to catch on to the fact that they do it for his benefit, too. In case he blacks out or panics (it still happens often enough), in case a reporter tries to hunt him down or worse. Once he does realize that it happens, he doesn't say anything about it, but happy to know they really do have his back.

The nights are still the hardest part.

Lucky sleeps pressed to his upper body, allowing Clint to bury his face in the soft, golden fur when things get hard and no one else is around. Natasha shares the bed with him whenever she's available, and surprisingly enough, others have offered their company, too. He's taken them up on it, when the flashbacks and nightmares were particularly bad and he needed another human body close, with Lucky close on the other side.

None of it comes anywhere near the soothing comfort that Phil was able to give to him, and it still hurts.

*+~

To his credit, Tony seeks out Clint as soon as he finds out, disheveled looking and barely hidden anger in his eyes. He called for a team conference, but he stands in Clint's living room, a hacked SHIELD file in his hands as he tells him,

“Fury lied to us, and I just found this out. Thought you should know first. But Phil is alive.”


	5. 2012-2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fury lies, Phil is alive and very much loved and missed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!  
I'm so happy. Hopefully you guys will like it, too. I have more short and long storeis planned for this verse, so stay tuned.
> 
> This chapter shouldn't be too bad.  
PTSD, death, the usual, but nothing graphic here. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

*+~ CHAPTER 5: 2012 – 2013

*+~ 2012

“What the fuck do you mean he's alive?”

Clint feels like the ground beneath him is vanishing, and he stumbles back against the sideboard, or else he'd have fallen over.

It's late at night, or rather, very early in the morning, and Tony just showed up at his door, which isn't that unusual. Both of them sleep like shit, so they'll often meet up at random times and just talk, watch stupid crap on the TV or go downstairs in the lab and blow something up just because.

The words “Phil is alive” still echo inside of his head.

“Look, I was going through SHIELD's servers because something felt off, and I don't trust Fury as far as I can throw him – without the suit, mind you. I didn't know what I was looking for, but then I found this update, that Agent Phil Coulson is in a secret medical ward, recovering from a multitude of injuries but very much alive.”

Clint looks at his friend, and he has a million things he would like to say, a million different emotions bubbling up, but he fights them all off – there will be time to fall apart later. Right now, all he cares about is getting to Phil as soon as possible and making sure he really is alive.

What he settles on is,

“I'm calling Tasha and you'll get the others. We're going in.”

They enter the quinjet shortly after, and Clint is still on the phone with Natasha.

She's not too far out, and is making her way to the location simultaneously with them, and Clint can tell she's just as thrown off as him but keeping a tight lid on her own feelings.

She may love Phil in a different way, but just as much as he does. These last few months have been long and painful for both of them, and the chance of getting to see Phil again when they thought they never could... It's a lot.

Talking to Natasha also helps to stomp down the urge to barge in and start a war while tearing the entire fucking place apart. For now. Clint wouldn't make any promises at this point.

The SHIELD base in question isn't too far away, and the flight doesn't take long.

Clint forces himself to keep it together, to treat this like a mission – otherwise he wouldn't be able to do this. Thank fuck he doesn't have to do this alone.

When he exits the plane, he's got four people at his back and Natasha already waiting, and when she pulls him into a hug, Clint can feel the tremors that are shaking her smaller frame. When they break apart, determination is on her face, and once again, they don't need words.

The Avengers turn a corner, and are met with a one eyed glare from Fury himself. None of them is impressed.

“Where is he.” Barton snaps, before the director can form a single word, and he fixes him in his stare.

“Do you know the definition of the word 'classified', Agent?”

“Do you know the definition of the words 'married' and 'medical proxy', _Sir_?” he bites back, and the last word ends in a snarl – he's furious, and pushing past Fury, completely uncaring about anything else.

“Fifth floor, two turns to the right, last door on the left.” he informs Natasha, who follows right after her best friend, and then the Director turns back to the other Avengers, who look just as furious, but will be happy to have this discussion while Clint and Natasha go straight for Phil's room.

*+~

The room is quiet around him, only filled with his own labored breathing and the beeps of machines.

Phil is awake, and he's staring at the closed door – he thinks he's heared familiar voices outside, and isn't sure if it was real or simply his imagination. Wishful thinking.

No one but Fury, a doctor and a small handful of nurses ever came to visit him here, and although he is in no shape to go through files to get any information, he knows that his presence (or survival, for that matter) must be classified and a well kept secret – otherwise, he knows, he'd have woken up to Natasha in his room.

He desperately wishes for Clint, but he knows the protocol for compromised Agents – the thought is more painful than getting stabbed through the chest. Phil hopes that at least, they did a quick and clean job of it.

His eyes are burning, and he closes them, sinking back into the soft bedding.

Phil want's to go back to sleep, but then he can hear the voices again – closer this time, and a small part of him hopes that it isn't just his imagination after all.

The door opens, and he blinks at it – if this is a dream then he never wants to wake up.

“Phil? Oh god, it's you.” The voice he's longed to hear all this time gasps, and then there is a strangled noise.

“Clint? You're alive?” he raps, trying to sit up to look at his lover.

“I was going to say the same to you.” Clint tries for a joke, but he fails miserably, face crumbling as he kneels down next to the bed, carefully taking his right hand into his own shaking ones and laying his head down next to Phil's.

Phil edges closer, still in pain, but he needs to be as close to him as he can, needing to be able to touch and feel and smell the familiar scent of the love of his life.

They don't talk very much, too overwhelmed with exhaustion, relief, sadness, happiness and anxiety all at once.

Natasha stays close by for a while, having to touch them both, before she departs with a kiss to both their hair and says, “I'm glad you're here. I'll go and yell at Fury now.”

*+~

They plan on bringing Phil home almost immediately.

He's still in need of help and medical attention, what with the invasive and partly alien procedure he's been through to save his life. Also the loss of his left hand in the process, but the worst is over, so the doctors agree.

Probably because Fury agrees, because the man might lie and manipulate and fuck people over when he thinks it's for the greater good, but he isn't stupid. It's all set up, has been since the Avengers stepped into the jet.

That first night, after a very emotional day and Phil fast asleep pressed close to him, Clint pulls out his phone to dial Julies number. If he didn't know, then the others won't know, either.

They don't get very far, and Clint is fumbling for words to explain what the hell is even going on.

A strange, artificial noise interrupts them, and the call suddenly ends. Julie calls back several minutes later, in tears and explaining that Fury just hijacked the call and explained to her that Phil is in fact, still alive. She's furious and happy both at once, and Clint promises to take care of him, and that he will call back when he is awake again.

They have company the next day, and Phil finds himself in the presence of a very concerned but none the less happy to see him team of superheroes. Seeing the team now is interesting, and sparks happiness in Phil. He was concerned about how they'd work together from the beginning. But the people in front of him clearly seem to have formed a small and strange family, and they stay for a few hours.

This room has never been so full, and Phil soaks up the company like a sponge. He's felt so lonely since he woke up for the first time. Now he's surrounded by old and new friendly faces that are all happy to see him, and he's still smiling when they leave to give him and Clint some privacy.

Phil falls asleep to Clint running gentle fingers through his hair, quietly telling him a bit about the team, their quirks and their life together.

“Don't be alarmed when Thor picks you up in a greeting, he tends to get excited and hugs people all the time. He's usually gentle when he knows you're injured or you ask him not too, but otherwise all bets are off and he might just carry you with him, no matter if you're currently holding weapons or a hot frying pan.”

Laughing still hurts a bit, but having a reason to feels too good to not do it.

“I'll have to keep that in mind. If only so I can take a photo.” Phil responds, lightly scratching his partners scruffy jaw, getting slower and slower before he drifts off with a smile on his face.

*+~

Recovery is a long, long process.

Phil is happy to get out of medical, to move into the tower where company, distraction and help is always close by. He spends a lot of time curled up in a soft, warm spot with Clint wrapped around him and Lucky on his legs, and often times they're quiet together, soaking up each others presence and small touches.

Some days, they talk about what happened after everything, and it still hurts. Both of them are traumatized, and there are days when all they can do is hold onto each other while they pick up the pieces.

More often than not, their sleep is interrupted by night terrors and panic attacks on either side, and despite their best efforts they have to learn the hard way that they're not enough on their own to help each other through it.

Dr. Langer recommends therapy sessions together, and they give it a try – it helps.

Weeks turn into months, and life goes on.

*+~ 2013

“Hey Phil, can you give me a hand?” Clint asks distractedly, arms and legs knotted up into a impossible pretzel and hunched over a file. He's staring into it with intense concentration, which makes his usually stern resting-face look like he's planning a very messy murder. It looks a stark contrast what with Clint wearing bright purple pajama pants with tiny slices of pizza printed all over them.

With a slightly mischievous smile on his face, Phil steps up behind his husband, detaches his left hand prosthetic from his arm and wordlessly places it on Clint's knee. Then he walks into the kitchen to get coffee.

Clint catches sight of it in the corner of his eye, blinks at it in comically surprise while somewhere behind him, Stark spits out his coffee. Everyone else in the room stares suddenly, and Clint bursts out laughing.

“Phil, what the fuck!”

He laughs harder.

“This is inappropriate and you are not funny at all.”

Clint is bright red in the face, and laughs some more.

Phil just grins, mug of coffee in his other hand and bends down to drop a kiss on top of the blond mop of hair. Clint holds up Phils prosthetic like one would go for a handshake, and offers it to Phil who takes it back.

“I'm hilarious and you know it.”

“You're a fucking asshole is what you are!” Clint exclaims, but he's still grinning and pulling Phil in for a kiss.

They will be fine, both of them know. As long as they have each other, they will be fine.

And they do have each other, and a whole team of trusted and capable people on top of it.

They will be fine.


End file.
